Dallas Genoard Wets His Pants and Begs for Mercy
by VampireNaomi
Summary: Unfortunately for Dallas, the Gandor brothers weren't joking with him. Spoilers for episode 13. Rated for language.


I have only watched the anime, so I apologize if this story somehow contradicts the light novels. Also, nobody is portrayed in a very positive light in this, but I'm not trying to bash anyone. I like all these guys, especially Dallas.

Since this is my first Baccano! fanfic, constructive criticism is more than welcome.

**DALLAS GENOARD WETS HIS PANTS AND BEGS FOR MERCY**

They were waiting for the cement to dry. Luck had said that it wouldn't do if Dallas or his buddies managed to wriggle free from the depths of the Hudson before their time was up. He had flashed him half a smile when he had said those words. Fucking bastard. Dallas wanted nothing more than to take a swipe at that mouth and knock out a few teeth, but unfortunately he wasn't in the position to do it.

He was sitting in an oil drum with his hands and feet bound. The rope was so tight that it bit into his wrists whenever he tried to adjust his position, but that wasn't as uncomfortable as it sounded. His skin healed instantly whenever the rope scratched it raw. It was really the least of his worries.

His hands were shaking. He would have liked to think it was just because he was sitting in cement up to his calves and it was goddamn cold, but it was barely half of the truth. He was scared shitless. His heart was beating in his ears; his breathing was erratic and he couldn't get enough air – and fuck, if it was like that now, what would it be like when – no, better not think about it.

The oil drum felt like it was getting smaller by the minute. He had never been claustrophobic, but this felt like a good time to start. He would be sitting in it like this, his knees up against his chest, for years and years to come. Drowning, swallowing water, struggling in vain. Dying again and again.

He wondered how long it would take for a man to drown. Five minutes? If so, how many times would he have to go through it before death became final? Twelve times in an hour times twenty-four, and then… then… Shit, he couldn't. His panicked mind refused to go through with it, but he knew it had to be a horribly large number.

"Hey, Dallas. What're we gonna do?"

Dallas ignored the frightened question that came from his right. His buddies were in the same situation, but he didn't give a damn about them now. They were of no help to him.

"Dallas? Are you liste -"

"Shut up, asshole!" Dallas snarled. He banged his elbow against the inside of the oil drum, partly to underline his words but mostly because he was so damn angry and frustrated and _scared _that he had to hit something.

"Hey, what are you boys doing there?"

Dallas looked up and tried to peer over the rim of his prison upon hearing Luck's voice. The three Gandor brothers were still around, playing a game of cards and waiting. Probably wanted to be there when they were thrown into the river. Sadistic bastards. Fuck them.

There was the sound of nearing footsteps, and Luck came to look at him. Dallas felt a shiver go down his spine; the man's eyes were too cold and indifferent to be human. If he got any pleasure from witnessing his predicament, he didn't show it.

"Don't thrash around in here or it'll take longer for the cement to dry. It's been over a day already. Some of us would like to go home at a decent hour," Luck said.

"Then let me out of here, you bastard!" Dallas snapped. It took all of his self-control to keep his voice harsh and demanding, but one look at Luck's face told him that he wasn't bluffing him. That knowing, self-satisfied shadow of a smile crossed his face, and Dallas felt smaller than ever before in his life.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to say please?" Luck asked.

"Fuck you," Dallas snarled.

Luck snorted and turned around to return to his brothers. He only made it a few steps away.

"Wait," Dallas called out. He drew a shaky breath and licked his lips. "Alright, wait. What do I have to do?"

He had to swallow his pride, not that there was much left of it. Maybe he could still get out of this. Maybe the Gandors just wanted to scare him. Maybe they'd let him go after they had tormented him enough.

Luck came back, his steps slow, and stopped to stare down at him. He didn't say a word.

"So, yeah. I'll say and do whatever you want," Dallas said.

Luck lifted his brows. "Anything?" he asked.

"Sure, anything."

"Hey, he says he'll do anything," Luck called out to his brothers.

There was a chortle from Berga. Keith, as usual, remained silent.

"My brothers don't seem convinced," Luck said as he turned his attention back to Dallas. His voice was thick with amusement.

Dallas had stopped pretending to be polite when he had left home. It had been one more way to feel free of all the rules and expectations he had grown up with. Now he had to bite his tongue in an effort to refrain from snapping at Luck. The oil drum wasn't the only way how the man had him trapped.

"And neither am I," Luck continued before Dallas could get a word in. "You killed several good friends of mine. You didn't have to. You could have gotten what you wanted without it. But no, you had to show off and try to be more than you were ever meant to be."

"But I -" Dallas started.

"And you know what? It just made you even more pathetic than before. You didn't have the guts to pull off something like that before you became immortal. I know what kind of man you are, and so do you. You know you're nothing, so you try to feel powerful by beating up those who are even weaker. What a sorry way to delude yourself into thinking you're worth something," Luck continued. He paused for a moment and glared Dallas right into the eyes before spitting out the final word.

"Coward."

Dallas gritted his teeth. How dare that bastard talk to him like that! He didn't know a single thing about him.

Berga came to stand by Luck's side. "Besides, it's not like you have anything of worth to offer us," he said.

"I said I'd do anything!" Dallas blurted out. He tried to stand up, but his legs had become numb, and there just wasn't any room to move. His pitiful attempt only led to him knocking over the oil drum. At first he thought it was a stroke of luck, that he could get out and try to run for it. Then he realized that it wasn't just because of the numbness that he couldn't move his legs.

Panic clutched at his heart, and he tried to kick himself free from the cement encasing him. No such luck. Shit, shit, shit!

"I think he's ready," Berga remarked. He nodded at someone Dallas couldn't see, and a couple of men arrived to lift the oil drum upright. They drove a small truck inside the warehouse and loaded the three men on it.

Dallas felt tears burn in his eyes, much like when the Gandors had first announced what they were going to do. The moments after the first shock had been almost surreal. For a moment, he had been sure this wasn't really happening to him. Now the rumble of the truck, the biting air and the smell of the river were all too real to ignore.

They didn't drive far from the warehouse. The truck stopped somewhere, and the men stepped out. Dallas could hear them walk closer. It was the middle of the night, but there was pale light coming from somewhere to their right.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

"Hey, guys. Don't do this," he said when the men came to lower them onto the pier. He didn't get a reply and saw no emotion on their faces. It was just business.

"My family has money. If you let me go, I'll -"

He heard another car arrive. The doors were opened and slammed shut. More footsteps. Dallas wasn't surprised when he heard Luck speak.

"Throw the other two first," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Gandor."

Dallas listened with growing dread as the men started dragging the other oil drums towards the end of the pier and how his buddies screamed and cried. There were two splashes and then silence.

Fuck, they had really done it! These bastards were serious!

"It's his turn," Luck said, and the words felt like he had cut Dallas' stomach open with a knife.

The men grabbed a hold of the oil drum and started dragging it towards the water.

"No! Wait! Please wait!" Dallas called out. He tried to thrash around to make the men stop, but it was nearly impossible in his bound state. A sob escaped his throat as he realized how close to the end of the pier they were.

"One moment."

They stopped at Luck's voice, and Dallas looked up, clinging to the last shreds of hope. Had they changed their mind? Were they just fucking with him after all?

"What now? We should be done with this," Berga remarked.

"Just a while longer. I only want to give him a final piece of advice," Luck said. He came to stand by Dallas' side. Judging by the sound of the nearing footsteps, Keith and Berga followed him.

"Aww, look. He's crying."

Dallas looked up when he heard Berga's voice. The giant of a man was towering over him. The light of a distant streetlamp laced his face with devilish shadows.

"Don't do this. Please don't do this to me," Dallas pleaded. His eyes stung. His tears made it impossible to properly make out the features of the Gandors anymore. His nose was running, and he couldn't wipe his face because of his bound hands. He had to look like a mess.

"You were so tough when you blipped off our men and shot us. You could at least try to take this like a man, too," Berga said.

Dallas lowered his head, no longer even trying to hold back his sobs. He didn't care that the Gandors saw him like this. It didn't matter. Between his crying and heaving breaths, he tried to mumble words of apology and beg for mercy, the remainders of his dignity forgotten.

He didn't want this, dammit! It wasn't fair! He had killed, what, maybe four guys. That was nothing. This was a fate worse than death. He didn't deserve it. These goddamn bastards had no right to do this to him!

"And see what he did now? I think the bastard has soiled himself!"

Dallas didn't lift his head at Berga's words. The fuck he cared anymore at this point. He was sure he could hear Luck made some comment from under Berga's guffaws, but he didn't hear the exact words. More insults, no doubt.

"Enough."

Everyone grew silent simultaneously. Even Dallas' crying stopped for a moment as he realized that it was Keith who had spoken. It was the first time he ever heard the oldest Gandor brother say anything.

"Right," Berga said, managing to sound a little sheepish. "I bet Kate's waiting for you."

"Let's get this over with, then," Luck said.

He gave an order to the workmen, and they resumed their hold of the oil drum, bringing it right to the edge of the pier.

Dallas couldn't hold back a whimper.

"And here's that final piece of advice," Luck said.

He paused for effect.

"Take a very deep breath."


End file.
